The Stoneholding

crown to groin!"

"You'll have to catch me first, you boorish hell-kite." Frysan returned to the middle of the bedchamber, watching for some opening in the man's defences. He was a formidable adversary, no doubt about that, quick and strong for all his suet-like girth. And no fool, for he paused now to catch his breath and marshal his thoughts, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"Very well, then, a thousand plagues on you, dog. You can go on playing soldier with your toy sword and marching backwards when you fight -- Like a true and trusty Life Guardsman. That's all the energy I'll spend on you now that I've limbered up the old sword arm. My men will be more than pleased to take care of you -- after I've finished the business that you my friend will take the credit for. Imagine your fame in the chronicle books of Arvon -- Mighty Slayer of Kings, Queens, and baby Princes," Baldrick said, still catching his wind.

Half-turning, he backed his way to the lamplit entrance to the King's sickroom. All that could be heard now was the snorting wheeze of the heavy-set man's breathing. For all his taunts, Baldrick was playing things very carefully, never letting his eyes stray from Frysan.

A flicker of movement erupted from the shadows of the sickroom just inside the door. Frysan lifted his eyes. Someone lurked there, creeping up ever so silently behind Baldrick. For the briefest of moments his eyes widened in surprise. Then shifting his gaze, he ...